The Smiling Kraken
by GigiPuff
Summary: Theon Greyjoy, Captain of The Kraken and Balon's only living heir, sets sail to the North to avenge his brothers' deaths and take The North for the Ironborn. However, when he gets there, a house flying banners of a flayed man take something he holds incredibly close to him. What will he do to get it back? Theon/OC (Theon AU, basically Balon's Rebellion never happened)
1. Chapter 1

'_Our God, let your servants, Rodrik and Maron Greyjoy, be born again from the sea as you were. Bless them with salt, bless them with stone and bless them with steel. May they feast in your halls, and may they fight forever in your name. What is dead may never die, but rises again, harder and stronger.'_

His uncle's words sounded miles away. They caught in the gushing winds flapping through the banners and scattered into oblivion. He barely saw his father's stern face, his mother's tear-stained cheeks or the stone look in his sister's eyes. He hardly felt the cold creeping underneath his armor or sweeping in his black hair. Theon stared at the tides crashing up on the shore, the ships he grew up on docked or sailing far away in the mid-day horizon, and the men standing all around them as his uncle blessed his brothers' corpses in salt water. They lay in large row boats filled with straw and pots of oil. His mother placed their cloaks, black decorated with a large kraken, over their bodies. His father put their swords on their chests after they blessed the steel in muddy sand. Theon and his sister waited for their part.

He studied his older brothers. The skin on their necks turned a faint green and blue; their mother wiped the fluids that emerged from the sides of their lips, and everyone tried not noticing how bloated the both of them started to look. They tried getting the bodies here as quickly as they could. Theon said they should have thrown the bodies from the ship like the others were, but his father ruled against the idea. He didn't want his sons tossed over like peasants. So, in the end, everyone had to sit there and watch his brothers go through the horrid, grotesque process called 'decomposing'.

Rodrik had been the oldest of the Greyjoy boys. Theon carried little love for him as a brother, but mighty respect as a captain. He remembered Rodrik commanded twenty long ships when Theon became his first mate; he could out-drink even the largest man, never lost fingers or anything else in The Finger Dance, and always told fake jewels from the real. He slew dozens of men in the battle of the Whispering Wood alongside Robb Stark's forces. His large shoulders and arms made him such a fearsome man. Theon recalls every time they raided, people's eyes widened seeing his brother hop onto their shores and begin pillaging their homes. He became a monster when a sword or axe was in his hand.

Sadly, Rodrik looked uglier in death than he did in life. They did nothing to cover the long scar that split his right eye in two or fix the sourleaf-stained teeth colored in red. His skin, once a tanned color, turned an awful pasty pale tinged in purple. It looked tight around his skull, so the wound opened even more. It disgusted him looking at it. His mother combed back the sleek black hair and trimmed his beard as if it'd help. He left behind six salt wives who weren't exactly sad to see him go.

Maron had been the prettier of the two with his high cheekbones and bright eyes (a trait from his mother). He collected ten salt wives from various parts of the Riverlands and the Reach; all some of the prettiest girls he had ever seen. Whether they are at the mercy of other men or dead, he wasn't sure. Theon recalled his cruel japes, such as calling Theon 'Captain Leech' for years after Theon came out of a river once covered in them. His compulsive lies weren't much better either. Their mother fell for them every time, but their father was no fool. Though, the throwing knives around his belt never missed a man's skull.

Rodrik died in the Battle of Harrenhal alongside northernmen and riverlanders. Maron died when Lannister men attacked the old South Tower here in Pyke. This was the price. This was the price The Greyjoys paid for siding with Robb Stark in his ridiculous cause to be king. They were promised their islands back, independent and free from the North, if they sided with him. Theon's father would be a king as he once was years ago before Robert Baratheon took it from him. They're beggars working for their scraps. What if this wolf boy doesn't win his little crown? Where will the family be? They'll be marked traitors; they'll be killed for siding with him if they don't play the game carefully. He lost his brothers for a cause he doesn't believe in…

"WHAT IS DEAD MAY NEVER DIE!" The chorus of men broke into his thoughts.

"Theon, Asha…" His Uncle Aeron turned to him, humorless eyes above a long black beard with seaweed braided into his hair. Theon never understood why his uncle became a Drowned Man after his crash. He had been a good swordsman once. They might need him again.

Theon and his sister, Asha, came forward. Asha, a leggy girl with the Greyjoy black hair and sharp nose in a thin face crewed as first mate on Maron's ship _Black Wind_. Their father disapproved of her wanting to crew on a ship, but their mother loved the idea. He bet her a galley ship that she wouldn't survive six months sailing with men. He believed she did not have the strength or stomach for raiding and she'd end up getting herself killed. She went with Rodrik on a raid to the fishing villages. Six months later, she returned with a whole bounty of her own and thralls for his castle. The shipbuilder is still making her new galley.

Being his first mate, Asha inherits _Black Wind_ and Maron's small fleet; just as Theon will inherit _The Kraken_ and all ten of Rodrik's remaining ships by laws of the Ironborn. They each stood beside their respectable captains. Theon gazed directly down into his brother's face. The torchlight did nothing but cast shadows on Rodrik's face. It made him uglier. Theon moved it a little closer.

'_You were my captain as well as my brother. You might have been utter shit towards me, but I wouldn't know the sea without you. You taught me the ways of ships and war. You gave me my first bow. Enjoy His halls, brother. What is dead may never die.'_

Theon lightly touched the torch to the mounds of dry straw underneath Rodrik's body. He watched the orange flames burn a small patch before quickly spreading all around him. Asha repeated the action with Maron. Their crews each pushed them off the shore to burn somewhere off in the distance; their ashes fall into the sea where they are reborn as oarsmen for the Drowned God. His eyes followed the beacon of light far out into the horizon, even as he felt figures begin to leave his side.

A hand touched his shoulder. "Come on, Theon," Asha's voice came over the hard winds, "Time to go home."

"They died for nothing, Asha," He said. "They died fighting for a cause they didn't believe in. They died fighting alongside men who should've been their thralls, not their equals."

"I know, so do we."

"This boy, this Robb Stark, this _King in the North_," He scoffed. "What a fool to take on The Lannisters…They attacked Harrenhal because they knew we'd be there. They knew Rodrik would be there bargaining with the Boltons from there. They used the seat of our ancestor in their own plan…They burned half our fleet before we had reached them…you should have seen them, Asha. All our ships sitting on the water like little torches of light waiting to die. I heard…I could hear men screaming as I rode up to the docks. They fell into the water. They ran onto the shore to put themselves out. I saw our men jump onto the Lannister boats, and be slaughtered like sheep. Then those bloody Boltons turned on us when they lions began winning. I saw Roose Bolton stick a sword right into Rodrik's back; did not even have the balls to face him as he killed him. He killed him like nothing had happened. I had to turn our forces around to the ships. We ran with our tails between our legs to our ships and sailed home. I spent three weeks on that ship thinking of what father will tell me like I was a little boy again: He'll say it was my fault. He'll say I should've known. He'll say Rodrik has no mind for politics, so I should've gone in his stead. He'll find some way to blame me for my his eldest son and heir is-"

"-You think you're the only one who failed?" Asha's voice dripped with resentment. "How do you think I feel? I was supposed to go to the Old Tower, not Maron. Maron volunteered in my place because he wanted a bit of action and said I had no business there. I didn't even see who killed him; all I was told it was some Lannister soldier. He'll blame me as much as you. He asked me why I wasn't in the Old Tower anyways, why I didn't follow him and why I didn't stay by his side? Theon…Our father might blame us, but we know the truth: Those northern shits are going to get theirs. We are Ironborn, baby brother. We are not their slaves; Robb Stark will see that soon enough. On that day, we'll avenge our brothers and restore our name together as it must be."

"We're not even fighting for Stark. We're fighting for our home; something that should already belong to us. Why do we have to prove ourselves to anyone to get back what is ours? Who is Robb Stark to say that we cannot have it?" He hoped somebody put a blade in that pretty mainland boy's face. "I hate him. I hate the Lannisters. I hate the Boltons. I hate everyone…"

"Everyone?" She lifted an eyebrow.

"Anyone who isn't us…"

Asha chuckled softly. " You are something else, Theon. Come," She linked her arm around his as they went back to their horses, "There's a feast up in the castle."

"Feasting at a funeral?" Theon saw Smiler, his black stead, standing next to Asha's.

"We're Ironborn, Theon. We drink when we're happy, and we drink when we're sad." They both mounted their horses. Once she had the reigns, she studied her brother's face, "Theon."

"What?" He looked over at her as their horses began strolling towards Lordsport.

"Race you!"

* * *

The feast came in full swung halfway through the night. Ironborn crowded the tables, toasting to their fallen brothers and singing songs of days long forgotten; a few took turns in playing The Finger Dance. So far, he noticed one lost two fingers and the other a toe. The axe they threw made marks into the wall behind them, though that didn't do much since the wall displayed tons of them already. Women served their ale, refreshed bowls of food going empty, and entertained whatever men clutched them first. Theon saw salt wives sitting on their men's laps; some of them giggled and blushed in fake smiles while others stared off into space as their captor groped them.

His mother sat obediently beside his father. She hardly spoke or ate. Alannys sat with a fork in one hand, and her eyes staring into her plate. Theon saw the sadness pooling in them on the brims of her eyes; they slowly rolled off into tears down her cheeks. She'd quickly wipe them before anybody could spot them, however. She seemed to be there, though not completely there. Alannys scarcely acknowledged the women addressing her or when Asha spoke to her. She couldn't bear losing her two boys, despite still having Theon and Asha. She loved Rodrik and Maron more than anybody should. This was Robb Stark's fault. This was his father's fault. This was Rodrik's, Maron's, The Bolton's, The Lannister's fault!

It was his fault for not protecting his captain.

"Don't beat yourself up about it, captain," A low voice said to him. "Here's some ale to wash your sorrows."

Dagmer took a seat beside him with two horns of ale. He handed one to Theon. Theon drank, but didn't taste it. The action merely became a distraction from the desolation of his mother's heart yards away from him. Due to a childhood accident with an axe, Dagmer "Cleftjaw" 's jaw split in two right on his lips, which left him four instead of two and many broken teeth. No hair grows there, but the rest is a snow white that is windswept from all the years of the sea breeze in it.

"The Drowned God needed strong men, and he took the strongest he could find: Your brothers." He knew Dagmer was only being kind. Technically, he was his uncle from a relation four or five generations back. "And gave you the chance to really prove yourself to your father."

"And if this ridiculous war goes on," Theon said, "I'll end up joining them..."

"Don't be thinking like that now. We're going to need a strong captain with a clear head when we head back out," Dagmer told him. "I've known you since you were a boy, Theon. I trained you myself as your master-at-arms. You're going to find the northern scum who killed your brother and stick a knife in him when all this fighting's done."

"Or while the fighting is still going on," Theon smirked.

Dagmer saw the smirk, though did not note on the meaning. "Your father's going to have a meeting on the morrow. He told me he wanted you to know."

"Glad you're playing raven now."

"Oye, watch yourself boy. Just because you're my captain doesn't mean I won't slice you," He gestured to the axe on his belt. The two of them laughed. "How about a girl to wipe your worries tonight? You got plenty of salt wives."

He did. Theon, unlike his brothers, picked his salt wives carefully whenever a raid was done. He didn't like simply having anything that looked good. He liked having strong girls with pretty hair or eyes, with soft skin and hands that haven't seen too much hard work. Girls who might have a talent, a particular trait he enjoyed or feature in their face that made them stand out in the lines of women they'd bring back with them. Most of his girls had something unique about them.

For example, Rosaline was a red-haired girl from the Riverlands. Theon found her in some village near the shores hiding inside a wardrobe. Her fiery red curls sprung around her freckled face in ringlets. They tumbled down her shoulders towards her back. Even in that poor village, they were rose scented. Theon loved burying his nose in her hair sometimes when he took her, gripping her soft skin and kissing her tender neck.

Joanna, a dark-haired girl from the Reach, almost did not leave with them. After being raped by three of his men, he saw no real value in keeping her. Upon hearing the order, Joanna begged him to spare her. When he asked why he should, she said she could dance. Yes, the best dancer in The Reach. Theon laughed off the proclamation, but never minded seeing someone make a fool of themselves. In the end, she proved quite light on her feet; graceful and more elegant in her feet than her face. He scarcely took her, so this did not matter; she didn't seem to complain about it as much.

When his men invaded the Stony Shore, he found Aria and Adria. Twin girls with wavy brown hair, they were highly contrasted from each other. Aria enjoyed reading poetry and playing her lute, while Adria scrubbed every single surface spotlessly clean and organized everything everywhere she went by color or size. Though mainly their identical beauty was what caught Theon's eye. Dagmer even joked it didn't matter which one he fucked because if you fuck one, the other one can feel it.

Sonia had been a nobleman's daughter visiting a small village in the Reach. Her obvious exotic beauty made her his instantly: Thick black hair, smoldering dark eyes, and her smooth caramel skin aroused him more than she knew. She had been a fighter too. She lost her left index finger when she scratched him so hard he bled and left a scar. Sonia never questioned him after that.

Though, the one he truly desired, the one who enchanted him with her sultry voice and seductive smile, the one who made him laugh with her bawdy wit and enclosed him in her warm arms, was Theresa. She took charge of his salt wives the moment they arrived in Pyke. Sonia, of course, tried stamping her out. Theon guessed she didn't like being under the orders of a servant. He watched for days as the two bumped heads with each other. He saw Sonia's hot temper flash about on her quick tongue, but Theresa's fury rage in her hands. She threatened to cut off Sonia's tongue and see how well she could talk then.

Theresa's mother had been a salt wife to his Uncle Rodrik Harlaw (called 'The Reader') before she died at sea. Being a thrall and not a slave, Theresa could be given over to the Drowned God and be considered Ironborn like them all or continue serving his uncle...she picked the drowning. At sixteen, she was the talk of everyone in Harlaw. He heard stories about her. Everything from her famous crab cakes to the time she stuck a girl's face in a burning hot brazier for calling her a 'northern bastard whore'.

His uncle gave her to him as his sixteenth name-day present. She sang, danced, recited poetry, and did all those womanly things. He never guessed she'd be the one who acted so brashly towards other women. He even knew how jealous she could be of the others. Theresa seemed so perfect but so terrible.

"Or," Dagmer chuckled, "You can try finding that rock wife of yours."

Theon grinned. A year ago, his father betrothed him to some Stonetree girl whose name escapes him. He only saw her three times: Their betrothal ceremony, their wedding, and their wedding night. After that, Theon went sailing east. When he returned, he learned his wife mysteriously disappeared when she picnicked on a small island off of Pyke. The kitchen wenches have their gossips: She ran away with some handsome lord from the green lands or she crashed on an uncharted island because the waters around Pyke are too dangerous to travel directly onto it or she died at sea, so the men dumped her body without telling anyone. Perhaps she went home, and Lord Stonetree is hiding her. God knows why. Theon had no interest in her.

"I'm going to bed," Theon said. He patted his first mate on the back, and then walked to his bedchamber with his horn in hand.

He walked through The Great Keep alone, dragging his feet on the stone floors and not noticing the intricate tapestries lining the walls. The ale lowered his senses. He couldn't smell the salt in the air or feel the cool winds on his skin. He had only one thing on his mind. He stumbled halfway to his bed chamber. Theon couldn't keep it all out of his mind. He saw Rodrik again.

The great ugly oaf had been fighting a Lannister man before the steel slipped between his shoulder blades. Theon believes Rodrik may not have felt it at first. The look of shock etched into the rugged face told him he hadn't fully registered the killing blow. The blood pooled in his chest instantly, staining his chest and armor, but perhaps the pain didn't take until a few seconds. Theon could hear the choking, gasping sounds his brother made for breath as he twitched on the ground like a bug. He fought four men to get to him. He nearly killed the Bolton bastard if his son hadn't gotten in the way. He killed the son. He killed an uncle. He killed any Bolton he could find on that shore and beyond. Theon wanted to go into Harrenhal himself. He wanted to kill the entire family. He wanted Roose Bolton to feel the pain he felt when he saw his brother's body lie in the cold muck of the North.

'_He didn't die by the sea. He didn't die where Ironborn die. If superstitions are true, he'll haunt his ship forever.' _

The hearth into a blazing fire of logs that cracked in the immense heat, so it casted shadows on the kraken engraved above the mantle; the candles around the room shined light on the mural painted above them: a painted picture of his ancestor The Grey King slaying the great sea dragon Naga with the help of an submerged Drowned God. His bed made of wrought iron covered in covers of deep green and grey like his mother designed years ago; his black wood wardrobe and dresser sitting near a corner, and the window shielding the cold winds from entering. She stood in his bed chamber alone. She brought a certain light to his dark bedroom. He didn't know if perhaps all women in The North had this glow, but he saw it in Theresa all the time. Theresa was the only one allowed in his chambers unless he said otherwise. The other four slept in the shacks were the other thralls rested.

She blew out the candles in a stand before she heard him enter. Theresa wore a royal blue dress, with a grey underbust wrapped around her center. He saw the golden threads embroidered into the underbust, as well as the blue ribbons made of satin. He remembered immediately: He tore that from the corpse of a riverland girl as a present for her. Morbidly enough, all her presents came from corpses of girls he raped or killed.

"My lord," She turned to him. No smile or cheeky grins were given. Her face remained solemn as he entered the room. "I'm...I'm very sorry about your brothers. What is dead may never die."

"What is dead may never die," They both touched their fists to their hearts.

Theon sunk down onto the edge of his bed. The ale had his mind swimming. He remembered seeing Rodrik the same. He'd stumble around, stinking of ale and wine, and singing songs. He'd sometimes pass out halfway through bedding one of his newly found salt wives. Theon laughed to himself when he remembered how he saved his brother from tipping overboard. When Rodrik scolded him for not letting his drown as all Ironmen do, Theon told him:

_'I want you to die bravely, brother. Not like a drunken idiot who doesn't know his way around his own ship.'_

He tried keeping himself steady by holding his head in his hands, and taking a deep breath as Rodrik...No...Not here...Not with her in the room. The tears stung in his eyes. He sucked them back like always. Theon put a hand over his mouth as if that'd stop the sobbing, but it didn't. He lost his brother. He lost his captain. He lost him because of Theon's negligence. A first mate is always supposed to be by his captain's side. Theon should have been fighting beside him. He could've killed that Roose Bolton right there in the muck. Bolton was part of Stark's army. Was that the kind of man Robb Stark sided with? Theon felt so angry and sad at the same time. He blamed himself for losing Rodrik in the middle of the fighting. He should have gone looking for him. He could've carved a pathway to him; pick off enemies from yards off with his bow and arrow. He would have protected his brother, regardless of what his elder said.

Now, he's gone. He is feasting in his god's halls, all his needs being tended by mermaids. Theon must take up the helm. He'll captain his brother's ships, and lead the men who followed his brother so faithfully. No doubt they'll follow him as well. He grew up with most of those men: Dagmer, "Black" Lorren, Stygg, Gelmarr, Urzen and Wex. These men respect him. They've accepted him as their captain. Of course, one of them will try taking the ship from him, though that's the least of his worries.

A pair of hands touched his shoulders tenderly, followed by a trail of kisses to his ear. She said nothing to him. She didn't disturb him in his silence. Theresa merely kissed him here and there and then wrapping her arms around his waist. She smelled like cherries for some reason. Why did she always smell so sweet and feel so good? Was it his love for her that made her so? Perhaps. Theon never understood love too much. Only his mother and sister showed him any sort of familial love. His brothers and father were….not as endearing. All he did was cover one of her hands with his.

"I had a brother too," She said. Theon knew she was lying. Theresa often told stories of others as if they were her own to make him feel better. He let her. It reminded him of Maron. "His name was Devon and he worked with my father on their fishing boat. I was never allowed to go with them because I was too young, but after days and days of begging, my father agreed. They took me to trade goods in Lannisport. I loved it there. Everything was so beautiful, and Casterly Rock stood high above where everybody could see it from any angle. I wanted to live there. My brother bought me these lemoncakes from a vendor, and showed me where the best fish were hiding. We collected seashells while my father traded. It was the best day of my life.

That night, he got drunk after my father went to sleep. When he tried bedding the barman's daughter, it resulted in a fight that got my brother a dagger in the neck. I saw the whole thing: The blood gushing from my brother's long neck, hearing his spitting and choking sounds…I cried for days. I had nightmares for weeks. I never forgot my brother. He lives here," She touched Theon's chest above his heart, "In my heart. You're a Greyjoy, Theon. You'll always be with your brother, whether you like it or not."

Theon stared at her for a moment. Her words touched him. He imagined her dreaming of a brother who handed her seashells, and a father who'd heartily laugh at her pleas. He saw a younger Theresa laughing, playing along white sandy shores; digging her tiny fingers into the wet sand for shiny shells. Maybe she did have a brother. She must've. His uncle told him her mother had been a lovely looking woman; the lovely ones always have several children. Lemoncakes, though? They'd be quite expensive for a fisherman. Most traders come ashore with empty purses and leave richer than before.

Then, he burst into laughter. "You are such a little liar," He pressed her down onto the bed and showered her in kisses. "I almost believe you for a moment this time. You'd be too poor for that sort of thing."

"Means I'm getting better then," She smiled, giggling as his kisses reached her neck.

"Eating lemoncakes and collecting seashells is considered part of the best day of your life?" He amused, resting himself between her thighs.

"Well, what else would it be? The day your uncle raided my village, killed my father, had my mother raped more times than she could've counted on her fingers by him and his men and took us both on his ship back to his castle where she died?" She said it so casually it saddened him a moment. "I think that'd be the dullest day."

He wrapped his arms around her, "Then what is the best day? The day we met? The night I fucked you right here in this bed? The night I turned you into a real woman?"

"Aren't you a romantic?" She quirked an eyebrow. Theresa slipped from his arms and lifted him from the bed. She began unlacing the rest of his jerkin, tossing it onto a chair which left him in a shirt and breeches.

"Only for you…" He grinned.

He brushed hair from her face. Her skin glowed in dim lighting. Theon admired her as she removed his shirt and worked on unlacing his breeches.

"My brother died fighting northernmen...Your mother was from The North, wasn't she?"

"She was, my lord." She placed a hand on her hip, "What of it?"

"It doesn't bother you that I slew men who defend the North?"

"No, it doesn't," She hated it when he poked at her history like that; as if it might still annoy her and she'd attack him. "I was four-years-old when I left The North. I remember nothing about it. I am ironborn now, and my place is here on Pyke."

He smiled as she turned away from him. Theresa blew out candles in one corner, giving him time to admire her shapely figure. His eyes followed the dips and curves of her waist and hips, up to the bends her breasts made when she lifted her arms. She definitely stirred something in him.

She never stayed annoyed long. He brought her to him as she passed to blow out more candles, and he kissed her without notice. His hand crept into her dark hair, massaging her scalp and tangling into her curls; the thumb of his other hand brushed lightly on her cheek and rested on the top of her cheekbone. Her lips gave into him willingly. She never fought him. She stood there, letting him kiss her a moment until she began wrapping her own arms around him. Her warmth, her sweet flowery scent, made him forget all about today. He left behind the pale beaches of the Pyke; the crimson blood running down his brother's lips and the burning ships of his father's fleet for Theresa's comfort.

"Your place is here on Pyke…" He repeated, "With me."

Her smile pressed onto his; her giggles vibrated his lips softly. "I thought that much was obvious. When you're not miles away, pillaging small villages or raiding castles, you're here with me."

She removed the rest of his clothes as he worked quickly on hers. Once nude, everything truly felt better. His mind didn't touch Rodrik or Maron as he kissed up and down Theresa's body; he hardly paid attention to the storm outside as he listened to her call out his name into the open air. They stayed in his bed until well past the candles burning out. Theresa even suggested they should stop for some rest, but Theon refused. He knew what would happen if he stopped: He'd start dreaming of the biggest mistake he ever made, and how he will never right it.

The sun broke into the room as the pair of the finally fell asleep. Later in the morning is when he'll bring his proposal to his father.


	2. Chapter 2

The world moved on the next day. Theon stood by his window as Pyke servants began their daily toil on the castle grounds. He saw the blacksmiths making new armor or weapons; the farmers herding the animals into their pens, feeding them or taking them out to a final slaughter for the kitchen, and the female servants washing clothes in the distance by the shores where they'd place wash buckets and talk away from men's ears. It was as if Rodrik and Maron never died. Nobody seemed upset or saddened by the loss of two Ironborn princes. Then again, why should they? Rodrik and Maron weren't the nicest of Ironborn. These people probably secretly believed these two deserved their fates.

He spotted Asha coming in on her horse from Lordsport, flanked by several other men. She slept on her ship. He could tell because she wore her clothes from last night. Her hair slightly disheveled with a worn look on her pretty face. Asha could have stayed in her room, why on her ship? Perhaps she thought their father would arrive randomly in the middle of the night and give her orders. She'd be prepared for anything. He admired that about his sister, though he'd never tell her. She took charge the moment it was given to her. She was the strategist in the family. She played her part well in their family. They all played them well.

Rodrik had been the solider. He took charge of the weapons in the armory, the armor the men wore, and which men became part of the Greyjoy army: Were they a foot soldier or archer?

Maron had been the sailor. He took charge of which ships went into battle, which ships went into what fleet and was on the best terms with their shipbuilder.

Asha was the battle strategist. She knew the land better than the rest of them. She knew the Great Houses, their strengths in battle and their weaknesses. She laid the best plans. Her battles always succeeded.

Theon was the diplomat. His good looks, wit, and charm made him more relatable to allies. He knew the games the mainlanders played; his siblings did not. His father always sent him ahead to seal alliances with people not from the islands. He had knowledge of the Great Houses, their surroundings and allies as well.

Theon failed in his role. He allowed his idiot of a brother do all the talking, rather than letting him sit back. Theon supposed he wanted to show himself up to these northerners. Rodrik didn't want them taking him for a fool. He was older than Theon. How would that have looked? The little brother talking for the big brother? Arranging his treaties for him while he hung back like a salt wife on the ship?

"My lord?" Her voice broke into his thoughts.

Being a servant, his wives woke earlier than he did. He heard an immediate buzz enter his room. All his salt wives began their chores. Rosaline began making his bed, Joanna set out clothes for him to wear at his father's council, and Aria and Adria drew bathwater for him in his tub. Sonia arrived with a tray of breakfast: Simple toast, honey, and eggs alongside crisp bacon with a flagon of black beer to wash it down as always. They all grinned, but he could tell four out of five weren't sincere. Sonia set the tray on the table.

"Where is Theresa?" He asked into the room.

"She is having your armor polished and your sword sharpened, my lord," Sonia answered. "She thought it might make you happy."

Theon sunk into the warm bathwater without saying anything else. The salty scent of the water filled his nose, which didn't bother him. He liked it. Ironborn were part of the sea; they should smell like it. He waved them all out. He couldn't stand looking at any of them a moment longer. He could tell they didn't pity him like Theresa. They wouldn't have comforted him as she had done. They'd just lie there and wait until he finished. He submerged himself in the water. Water seemed to be the only place where a man found peace anymore. Once he went below, all sounds faded away from his ears and all his troubles fell from him like the grim on his skin. The only thing that mattered was how long it'd be before he stood on the line between living and dying. They drowned him as a baby, so he doesn't remember how long he lasted before he crossed over nor how it took before he came to life again.

Then something tightly gripped his hair and pulled him from the water. "Theon! What are you doing?!"

Asha stood above him, rage and confusion written on her face. "Nothing," Theon answered, "Just seeing how long I could last."

"Ugh, you're weird when Theresa isn't around! Where is she anyways? She's always here." Asha placed her hands on her hips, "Mother isn't feeling too well and somebody needs to assist her today."

"Why does it have to be her?" He asked.

"Because mother likes her the most," Asha walked over to his breakfast where she picked off the bread. "I tried having the others do things for her, but she doesn't let them do anything. I thought maybe she'll let Theresa help her since she won't do it herself."

Theon stepped out of the tub to his sister's distaste. She threw a cloth at him, "Where is she?"

"Sonia told me she was having my armor polished."

"Told me that too; when I went to look, Theresa had already gone."

"Did you try seeing if she was in the kitchen? The washing bay? With Uncle Aeron? You know she likes watching the drowning of the new Drowned Men or seeking his counsel in whatever she thinks needs counseling." He chuckled. He pulled on breeches over his small clothes. "I think if they allowed women into the clergy, she'd be a Drowned Woman instead." _'Instead of the light of my life.'_

"As if," She said. "I think she'd pick you over the Drowned God any day." Asha put aside the piece of bread, "Do you have any idea where else she'd be? You know her better than anyone."

"What time did the high tides come in today?" He asked.

"The hour of the nightingale," She answered, "As the sun was rising."

"Then the low tides should be coming in. She likes to be on the rocks when the low tides come so she can see fish and collect sea shells or whatever it is women do by the ocean," He answered. "She could be there."

"Alright, I'll look for her."

However, she stayed. Her eyes followed him around the room as she continued picking off his breakfast. He lifted the plate away from her so she wouldn't end up eating everything.

"Anything else you need, sister?" Theon asked. He bit into the last piece of bread dipped in honey, slowly becoming annoyed by her presence.

"Father's having a council meeting today," Asha said. "He'll want to attack the northerners for what they did to Rodrik and Maron."

"I know."

Asha followed him to the large nautical map laid out on the table. Theon dotted the map with figurines: There were wolves scattered in along the Riverlands, lions planted in the south and stags on Dragonstone. He stared down at the map and picked up a wolf figure. He placed it further down towards Riverrun in the Riverlands.

"You've been busy," She smirked.

"I like keeping tabs on my enemies," He said. He put a kraken figure closer to them but inches away, which really means a day or so, "And family."

"Who is that?"

He pointed at the one he just moved, "This is Uncle Victarion, who should be sailing somewhere between The Reach and here". Theon gestured to one in the far east near Essos, "That is Uncle Euron. Somebody from one of the Arbor ships told me they saw his ship docked there. Victarion is on the move, but Euron isn't."

"Which is good," Asha said, "We should be grateful Father sent him away. The North is too big, too wild. You cannot just walk in there expecting the northerners to bow down to you. They all have too much pride for that sort of thing. We'd have to take them down in notches; take down the smaller castles for ourselves so we have a good footing in the land."

"We'll have to strand Stark somewhere in the Riverlands so he can't come creeping back when he hears we've landed," Theon said. "Though, I wouldn't exactly mind shooting an arrow into his pretty head."

"You plan on killing Robb Stark, brother?" Asha asked amused.

"And become King of the Cold Shit? No. I'll stick to my islands. The Lannisters will get Robb Stark eventually. He's taken on a great family. They have a big army and lots of gold from their mines. Tywin Lannister is also quite the tactician I hear. So, they'll have no trouble wrangling in this wolf boy."

"I hear he's won a lot of battles though," She added. "They say he rides his direwolf into battle, and then watches it feast on the flesh of his enemies."

"Which depletes him of men. Winning battles means nothing if you're making more dents in yourself than in your enemy," Theon told her. "It just means he has a good war council….but we have a better one."

The two Greyjoys stared at the map. Asha then said, "We'll get our own castles, I expect."

Theon smiled. "I've always wanted my own castle."

* * *

Lord Balon Greyjoy had a face of stone. Theon could never decide whether his father approved or disapproved of something until he said so. If he wept about his sons, he surely did it out of the eyes of others. Theon would almost suspect, by how he stoob by his fire so casually over his map he hadn't known Rodrik and Maron died. It broke his heart seeing the man sitting there as he had mornings ago, when Theon came to tell him Rodrik had fallen at Harrenhal. He remembered the devesation that crumbled inside him. His father beat his hands bloody on his fireplace mantle, while his mother wept until her throat became hoarse. He damned the new gods, the old gods and even their beloved Drowned God. He blamed the Storm King in his castle of clouds. He cursed his ancestors. He cursed himself for being so careless. Nothing in the room was safe from the wrath of Balon Greyjoy when he heard his sons died at the hands of Stark men.

Gaunt with dark eyes, the lines in his face, and white flecked in his black hair proved his old age, but that never stopped Balon from captaining the great ship called _Great Kraken_. He stood over a large map across his table, pushing figures here and there as Theon so often did, not noticing his two remaining children. The fire cracked in its place, servants had left out ale and food that nobody touched, and a man nearby.

Rodrik Harlaw was called 'The Reader" because he could be found reading in his solar back on his island. He did the same here. His brown hair mismatched his grey beard, and dark eyes scanning the pages of the books, he stared up at the two as they entered the chamber. He shut the book, staring at his niece and nephew hard.

"Father," They both greeted him quietly.

He looked up as if he just noticed them. "Ah, Theon, Asha, you're here now. Good. We can start."

They both inaudibly addressed their uncle as they approached the tables. Rodrik stared down at them, "Captain Theon...Captain Asha...Never thought I'd see the day you two were allowed your own fleets. The battle-thirsty warrior-woman and the pretty diplomat green-boy not too far behind."

"We're more than that," Asha told him. "You should know. You fought with me at Seagard."

"Ah yes," He said, "Where you let those Mallister bastards skewer your brother like a stuffed pig. And you," He bore down on Theon, "Letting Rodrik handle the negotiation...You know how dim-witted he was, and how little sophistication he had. The boy couldn't make an alliance with a piece of paper. It was your job to talk with them. Your father gave YOU that order, not Rodrik."

"Rodrik was my captain," Theon said. "It was no place of mine to be questioning my captain. He said he could handle it, and I'd be beside him to pull him out if he went too far. I didn't think-"

"-Aye, you didn't think. Now your brothers are dead and we're stuck with you two-"

"-That's enough, Harlaw," Balon interrupted. "Theon is right. He had no right questioning his captain. Asha had no control over those treacherous Mallisters. They didn't know about the wolf pup's real plans for us."

"Your two sons are dead, Balon."

"And I will grieve for them the rest of my days. For now, I have Theon and Asha, and they are as good as any captain I have ever seen. Theon is the best archer on these islands; he has worked out countless alliances for me without lifting a single axe. Asha can throw an axe farther and faster than any man here; she's killed men and seen war. The days they do not spend here, they are out there reaping and sowing our name into the corpses of our enemies. They both have their strengths, and I plan on using them."

"How, Father?" Theon asked.

"Robb Stark is in the Riverlands in Riverrun, which means The North is ours for the taking. If we take the North, we can avenge your brothers and take it for ourselves. I played kindly with this Stark boy because your caution advisement warned me not to go up against the green boy, but not anymore. The northerners have made us their slaves for far too long, Theon. It is time we finally became ourselves again...relived the Old Ways when people feared us. We will make them fear us again."

"Father," Theon said, "As much as I hate the Starks-believe me I do, Father-we cannot simply head on into battle against them. Open rebellion will mean war for our men. Yes, they have seen war and fear no man, but it might destroy the alliances we've made in recent time-"

"-Those alliances aren't even important," Harlaw said. "We have the houses of the islands. We don't need mainlanders."

"Yes, we do. They have resources we can never make on our own. They'll block our ships." He turned to his father, "We'd have to think carefully about who we make our enemies if we seek rebellion, Father."

Balon examined his son's face. When he heard his wife would be giving him a fourth son, he never suspected he'd grow up like this: Lean, dark and handsome. He wasn't a hard man like his father or brothers. He turned out completely different. While his brother's held no real social skills, Theon talked his way in and out of everything. He knew people. He enjoyed knowing their ticks and their...desires. Theon killed, raped, stole, and sowed his name throughout Westeros. He became a skilled bowman, while his brothers held axes and knives. Women came to him willingly, but they ran from Rodrik and Maron. Theon smiled all the time. Greyjoys never smile.

Theon was special. Balon saw that in his eyes.

"Our allies," He finally told him, "Are too worried about the war to take an interest in our doings. If you two plan this correctly, they won't notice a thing. If they become our enemies, you will make them wish they never had." He looked at Theon and Asha, "It is time you two finally showed yourselves to be the Greyjoys you were born to be." Balon stepped away from the table.

Theon felt confused at first, but then he understood. Asha came to the table. Picking up a kraken figure, she held it in her hand a moment as she stared at the map. "We can't take the North all at once. It's too big for that sort of siege. We'd need to set our feet into it first before finally having control. But..."

"Moat Cailin," Theon pointed, "It's a perfect first point. That's that North's only way of keeping out southern invaders. If we take control of that, Robb Stark will have no way of getting back onto his own lands safely. He'd have to take his armies all throughout the swamps around The Neck otherwise. It's almost a ruin, but strong men can defend it when need be."

"Stark will have men there guarding it, so somebody will have to lead an attack to seize it from them. Though, I won't guess higher than five-hundred if he were me." Asha placed the kraken down on Moat Cailin. "I'll have Uncle Victarion take it. He's strong enough and more experienced."

"How many men will he need?" Their asked this as if it were a lesson and not a war council. Was he testing them?

"At least hundred ships from our fleet," She answered. "And attack from the north. Moat Cailin is surrounded by swamps and crannogs, so they'd be able to keep him out with even natural defense rather than just the men alone."

"Where else?"

"Deepwood Motte," Theon said as he studied the map. "It's the seat of House Glover, but Glover's off fighting with Stark, so I imagine there's nobody there but his wife and children. I remember them from when I met with Robb Stark myself. It's a fairly large castle, and well guarded. Which means..."

"We'd have a secure base in the north and still have the west seas," Asha grinned. "We can go around to Sea Dragon Point so the men don't see us coming. I'll take men myself. At least thirty longships will do it for me. I'll have a portion of the Iron Fleet raid the villages in the Stony Shore so the northerners Stark left behind will be distracted." She turned to her brother, "Theon, my baby brother, can take Hornwood."

"Why Hornwood?" His father questioned.

"It borders between White Harbor and The Dreadfort, and has links with House Karstark, Flint, and Tallhart through Lady Hornwood," He indicated each house on the map. "If Lady Hornwood sent word to Lord Manderly that her castle was under siege, then he'd either have to waste more men in fighting us or surrender to Ironborn men."

"Why would it matter if we had Hornwood?"

"It's close to the shores, for one, and close to the Dreadfort so it's the perfect encampment if I planned on taking The Dreadfort."

"Should you?"

"No. The Dreadfort is the seat of...House...House Bolton," He could hardly say the name. "Roose Bolton will be stuck on the other side of Moat Cailin with Robb Stark, so he cannot defend his home himself. I don't doubt he has somebody defending it, though. There would be no purpose in taking the Dreadfort when that bastard will be coming back for it."

"We need footholds," Asha said to him. "Permanent placing in the North that can't be taken from us by the families. The Hornwoods don't have a particularly large army, and the only people there are the late lord's wife, who is Manderly's cousin from what Theon told me. Nothing can stop Theon from taking it and holding it for us."

"Once our army is better suited," Balon said, "And Robb Stark is finally killed...the North will be ours to take. We will be Kings again."

"Are you actually going along with this plan, Balon?" Harlaw asked.

"I am. It works. Manderly and Bolton are fighting with Robb Stark, so they cannot come back so quickly and assist Hornwood. Deepwood Motte is a fairly good place to keep a camp secure, and if we choke the life from Moat Cailin, the northerners will never get through." He glimpsed at them both, "We will sail out on the morrow. You both pick your ships from the fleet, and I will send word to our uncle of his orders."

"Yes, Father."

"Yes, Father."

"Remember, this is the North. Any alliances we had when this war started are as good as gone now," He told them. "You will only have each other and your crew. You need unity if this plan is going to succeed. Stick together, and don't let up, understand?"

"Yes, Father."

"Yes, Father."

"Good. You're dismissed."


End file.
